The Portrait of Marlene McKinnon
by SerenityBlaidd
Summary: Told through the eyes of Lily Luna, Hermione, Lily and Marlene McKinnon. A story about love, loss and the ties that bind us all together.
1. Ch1 Lily-Luna & Lysander

**AN: Written LiveLaughLove013, with her prompts: Lilysander invent, Jily fairytale, If Hermione was a Ravenclaw, BlackKinnon outside, Georgina wonder, What if Marlene McKinnon had survived? & James S Potter/OC spider) And for ****PatronusIsAMockingjay31 - who wanted Blackinnon :)**

******The cover picture is of the model Janna Prosvirina (Kuoma on deviantart)**

******~o0o~**

Lysander Scaramander was rather fit.

His skin was tanned and lightly freckled, from all those days out in the sunshine hunting after weird beasts; and his tangled blond hair was just the right length for tendrils to escape the loop of black leather which tied it off his face.

There was a couple of strands at the front that fell repeatedly in his eyes, while he told Lily-Luna earnestly about his work with Heliopaths.

Heliopaths were exciting to Lysander.

And Lysander was rather exciting to Lily-Luna.

Chin resting on her cupped hands, she listened to him talking passionately about the wondrous world of the Heliopath.

Whatever Heliopaths were.

Lily-Luna hadn't the foggiest.

She wondered what he'd do if she leant across the table and stroked that that messy blond hair out of his eyes?

She would carefully but purposefully, tuck it behind his ears.

She smile, shamelessly.

That would stop him talking about bloody Heliopaths.

He would definitely be very surprised.

…And he'd look up at her with those impossibly sincere blue eyes,

…And laugh nervously.

…Probably.

…And Lily would lean across the table and kiss him.

…On the lips.

…There would be no forewarning and definitely no apologies.

…She would probably knock him clean off the chair and they would role about in each other's arms, on the rug, hands tangled in each other's hair, kissing and kissing until they had to stop to breathe.

…And then kiss some more.

"_**Lils…?"**_

…And they would kind of tussle a bit.

…Because Lily wasn't some sappy princess of a girl who'd just lie back and let anyone kiss her.

"_**Lils?" **_

…But Lysander was rather passionate.

…He tamed wild beasts and beings, and so he would probably be able to tame Lily-Luna.

"…_**Lils! Have I bored you to sleep or something?"**_

…He might hold her on the rug, hands pinned down, fingers interwoven with hers, while his lips curled into a grin.

…And then he'd kiss her again.

…Purposefully.

…Achingly slowly.

_**Lysander had stopped speaking.**_

"What! Yeah…? Oh, yeah! I _definitely_ agree..." Lily stammered quickly, cheeks flaring a hideous red. "Heliopaths, huh?"

"You 'agree'?"

Lysander narrowed his lovely sapphire eyes, slightly suspiciously.

He had pale eyelashes.

And tanned skin with a smattering of freckles across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.

Who even had pale eyelashes?

If he was a girl he would whack a load of mascara on them.

Lily thought she might be falling in love specifically with the pale eyelashes.

…and his gentle smile.

…and his eyes, that were bluer than the sky in June.


	2. Ch2 Lily & James's Fairytale

James Potter was not classically handsome.

He was more 'criminal mastermind' and 'evil genius' than 'school heartthrob' but he had a certain cocky charm about him and, more importantly, he was definitely Lily Evans' 'Prince Charming'.

He had passion.

Lily would admit she was slightly in love with the passion.

And he had energy.

Too much energy.

But he also had an uncrushable spirit.

Sadly for her, Lily Evans was truly, madly and deeply in love with every single thing about him.

Because James Potter was, as he frequently reminded everyone in earshot, _awesome_.

He actually was.

Immodest but awesome.

She had got tired of telling him to put a sock in it.

_James was awesome_.

Theirs had been a fairytale romance.

He, the wealthy pureblood, had fallen madly in love with her fierce spirit and her wild beauty.

It was all achingly romantic.

They were married at eighteen, a year out of school, in the middle of a war.

She was pregnant a year later.

On a July morning in the summer of '81, Lily Evans woke up, early after an uncomfortable and sleeplessnight.

Her prince had been won.

Her fairytale wedding celebrated.

And now Lily Evans had stretch marks, bad backache, the desperate need to pee, and a stomach the size of a beached whale.

It was at this point that she concluded that she had not given enough consideration to what the 'happily ever after' after the wedding truly entailed.


	3. Ch3 Sirius and Marlene

Lying asleep on the grass, at the side of the Black Lake, Sirius was without doubt the most handsome, no, the most _beautiful_ person that Marlene McKinnon had ever seen.

Even when he was awake and being an utter arse, he was shockingly good looking.

That was a fact grudgingly acknowledged by all.

But awake there was also something strangely fluid about his looks.

Marlene had noticed this.

From one day to the next he could swap from seeming rather haughty and elegant, with his perfect cheek bones and his aristocratic sneer, to 'windswept and wild'; laughing manically as he and James staggered off the Quidditch pitch, arms slung over each other's shoulders, pale cheeks flushed from the wind and the excitement of the game; eyes sparkling, and all that lovely black hair fluffed up and begging to be untangled by careful gentle fingers.

Sometimes Sirius let Marlene untangle his hair, with her careful fingers.

It had started quietly, during that winter.

Something small but massive in its importance to her. A quiet sacred thing, amidst the chaos of school, impending adulthood and the brooding, waiting war.

It was something special.

And Sirius had no time for girls at all.

Mostly he thought they were silly flirtatious creatures, rather annoying but occasionally fun to mock. The strong clever girls he found to be like his mother and his cousins, who were all strong intelligent women that Sirius hated.

He hated all the women in his family.

He hated the girls who tried to boss him about.

And he hated the pathetic ones who batted their eyelashes and offered him their hearts, just because he was handsome or important.

He never gave them any reason to love him.

Mostly he considered himself unlovable, on anything but the most superficial level.

But Marlene was different.

Marlene was special.

And so Marlene was allowed to sit in the boy's dormitory, playing with Sirius' hair, as he lay on his bed and talked quietly and seriously to James, about the latest horrible letter from his parents, or his fears for his ghastly little brother who seemed determined to get himself and Sirius killed as soon as they left school.


	4. Ch4 Hermione the Ravenclaw

**In 1997, after the battle of Hogwarts was won, Hermione Granger, along with many students in her year, returned to Hogwarts to finish their NEWTS studies...**

Sitting beneath a tree, at the side of the Black Lake, Hermione tried hard to prepare from her coming exams.

Beside her, her friend Luna repeatedly tried to distract her, talking about things that mostly seemed entirely made up.

It was annoying and Hermione had never been good at smiling and shutting up when people were annoying her.

When she heard the name 'Marlene McKinnon' mentioned in relation to herself for the hundredth time, she flung the book down in exasperation.

"I'm sorry? Who was Marlene?" She asked, crossly.

"She was killed in the First Wizarding War." Luna 'reminded' her, continuing to pick daisys to make into necklaces to drape around the grouchy ginger tomcat asleep next to Hermione's book pile.

"…Her portrait hangs in the Ravenclaw Common Room," she added, helpfully.

"Marlene McKinnon…?" Annoyingly the name was vaguely familiar. "…She was a _Ravenclaw_?" Hermione asked, as the image of a pale haired girl in a photograph suddenly popped into her memory. "She was in the Order of The Phoenix, during the First War. For some reason I always assumed she was in Gryffindor."

"I expect that was because Marlene she was very brave," Luna pointed out. "You really don't have to be in Gryfindor to be brave, Hermione. Look at Regulus Black."

"Regulus... Sirius' brother?" Hermione frowned, considering this. "oh, well, yes, she conceded. That's true. He must have been very brave."

"…And Professor Snape." Luna pointed out. "I could always tell he was on our side. Maybe you should ask Marlene about the veil."

"What veil?" Hermione asked, trying not to sound as exasperated as she currently felt.

A couple of the other students eating lunch on the sunny lake bank tittered at the exchange.

"_The_ veil?" Luna blinked at her. "_Marlene's_ Veil."

"I don't even know what that is, Luna," Hermione snapped. "Her 'veil'?"

"Yes, you know, to cover her face. Her _bridal_ veil." Luna nodded encouragingly. "I thought that must be why you wanted to talk about her."

"I didn't." Hermione pointed out. "You were talking about her."

"No, I think it was you," Luna said.

"…Right." Hermione decided. "Of course I was. That's right, Luna. I was looking for Marlene McKinnon's bridal veil!"

Ignoring the scathing sarcasm, Luna shrugged.

"Personally, I think it's a very good idea," she said, unfastening her blue and bronze tie and pulling it out of her collar.

"If we all swap Houses, maybe people will finally see that there is bravery, intelligence, kindness and practicality in _all_ of us, regardless of what Houses we were originally sorted into…"

She pulled her School robes overhead, with its embroidered Raven crest, and flung it down on the grass.

"Is Luna doing a striptease!?" Michael cried, excitedly.

"No, she's not!" Neville thrust him aside, tugging off his own school robe and hurriedly throwing it over Luna's shoulders.

"Oh, bravo, Neville!" Luna cried, in delight. "I'm a Gryffindor! Here, Neville, have my robes! Be a Ravenclaw!"

"You're actually swapping Houses?" Hannah Abbot asked, uncertainly. "Are you allowed to do that?"

"I'm sure we are. Free thinking is encouraged in Hogwarts," Luna told her firmly. "Here, Hannah, you swap with Hermione."

"I'm not very brave," Hannah stammered, doubtfully, her cheeks colouring.

" I think you are," Neville told her, feeling less like a hero and more like a pink cheeked school boy by the second.

Hannah smiled at him.

"You should try a year in Hufflepuff," she muttered awkwardly, her own cheeks a very Gryffindor red, as she pulled off her yellow trimmed robes and offered them to him. "You may be the bravest person I've ever met, but you're the kindest too. I'm sure Hufflepuff would be honoured to have you, even for a day or two."


	5. Ch5 George and Angelina

"…So that's how it happened," Hermione concluded, with an uncertain shrug. "We all stripped off our robes, right there at the side of the lake, and swapped Houses. I'm in Ravenclaw and Ginny… Ginny is…"

"…_a bloody Slytherin!_" Angelina swore, realising before Hermione could finish.

George laughed

Then stopped rather suddenly.

It was the first time Hermione had heard him laugh since Fred had died.

It was a strange long forgotten noise, unselfconscious and loud, then suddenly choked up, as the horrible realisation of what he was doing overwhelmed him.

The silence that followed grew suddenly vast and painful to witness.

George's face grew pale and haggard.

Like Angelina, Hermione moved a little closer to him, as if between the two of them they might put some human warmth into the cold empty place beside him, where Fred was meant to stand.

"…So you abandoned Gryffindor and became a Ravenclaw for some dead birds 'bridal veil'?" Angelina asked, hurriedly; the mockery in her voice just a little too forced, and a little too loud.

"Yes… And I don't even know who Marlene McKinnon is," Hermione complained, trying to make her own voice fill the silence.

Nothing filled the silence.

It stretched out around them.

"…She's nobody important… I've looked her up in Hogwarts a History and in Remarkable Characters of The Modern Wizarding World… The McKinnon's are an old pureblood family, apparently… but they were all wiped out in the First Wizarding War. Marlene wasn't anyone important. Just the youngest child of the last McKinnons to have children… She died when she was our age... But I think Harry's got a letter that his mum wrote to Sirius, after Marlene and her family were killed…"

Filling the silence with words wasn't working.

The emptiness wasn't created by a lack of sound.

But Hermione couldn't think of another way to try and get rid of it.

And all the words that tumbled out of her mouth seemed to be about 'death' and 'killing' and people who were dead.

And so, as abruptly as she'd started, she stopped speaking.

And then the silence grew so loud it pressed in on the membranes in your ears.

"…So." Angelina exclaimed, suddenly. "…Fred said your mum got married in a veil that was so long and thick that she looked like she was trying to look like a ghost… with a sheet over her head, George."

Hermione didn't say anything, but her eyes willed Angelina to try, for just once in her life, to be a little sensitive to someone else's feelings and to shut the hell up.

Abruptly George started to laugh again.

The same broken laugh that tailed off into gaps, which had always been filled by Fred starting him giggling again, each time he tried to recover.

But Fred wasn't there.

Fred was never going to be there again.

And that was too appalling for Hermione to even think about.

At any time.

And still George's almost hysterical awkward laughter hiccoughed out of him.

"…_Mum wasn't pretending to be a ghost!"_ He exclaimed suddenly. "_She was trying to hide the fact she was six months pregnant! With Bill!_"

"_You'd think your dad would have already known about that!"_ Angelina cried out, recklessly.

"_I know! But her brothers would have bloody killed him!"_ George howled, absolutely shaking with uncontrollable fits of laughter.

"_Like they'd have stood a chance against your mum!"_ Angelina cried. "_She's a bloody Battle-axe!"_

And they both screeched with laughed, so loud and hard that Hermione couldn't stop herself laughing to.

Hermione laughed until great bubbling sobs started choking out of her mouth.

Sobs and tears she knew she should be able to control, when George was brave enough to hold himself together.

But then George was covering his face, in a horrible desperate way, clutching at his mouth, which didn't know any more if it was howling in laughter or in pain, while horrible choking sobs animalistic and desperate tumbled out of his mouth and the tears spilled uncontrolably between his frantically clutching fingers. All three of them crying, hard barking sobs, because Fred was dead, and he was never coming back.


	6. Ch6 The Portrait of Marlene McKinnon

Marlene McKinnon was quite pretty. She had lots of dusty blond hair, sparkling blue eyes and round cheeks; pink like apples.

Even her little oil-painted mouth was rather small and very pink as she smiled out of the portrait.

Hermione studied the picture carefully. It had been painted at dusk. A massive red sun hung low and heavy in the sky, casting a rosy light over the subject and background.

In the background, just as it stood today, was Hogwart's Owlery. Two schoolboys, in old-fashioned Quidditch robes, sat at the foot of the distant staircase; their brooms resting against the wall, casting long shadows on the dirty owl-poo covered ground. A solitary owl blinked in one of the towers high windows.

Hermione studied the painting carefully and for some time, while Marlene McKinnon gazed out at the quiet Ravenclaw Common Room, with her secretive little smile.

The picture and the Ravenclaw Common Room were so very quiet and still, that Hermione almost jumped out of her skin, when the ghostly Grey Lady floated out of the wall, circled the room, and came to stand beside her, icy tendrils of her ragged blood soaked wedding-dress drifting against Hermione's side and sending cold chills over her skin.

"Do you remember her?" Hermione asked, when she'd recovered. "Her name was Marlene Mckinnon."

"Oh, yes… I remember Marley," The Grey Lady sniffed. "…I never liked her though. Thought she was so special…"

The ghost scowled at the painting for a moment. "…Smug little thing," she complained, suddenly, "pretending she can't hear us."

Hermione chanced a quick sidelong glance at the ghost, who continued to glower petulantly at the painting.

"It's not… Clearly it's not an enchanted portrait," Hermione ventured to explain, as politely as she could.

She was trying not to laugh, because the ghost looked so offended by the portraits silence. "I'm sure she hasn't been ignoring you for the last twenty years. This is a type of portrait that can't speak."

"Refusing to!" The Grey Lady cried, tossing her head back haughtily and scowling at the painted girl harder. "…Pretending she can't hear me!" she cried and she swept away, across the room and back; chilling the air and making Hermione's words appear in puffs of icy mist.

"No, I really don't think she can hear you or see you're here," she explained to the ghost. "See how she never takes a breath or blinks her eyes?"

"She's pretending!" The ghost howled, drifting across the room. "Thinks she's so special, doesn't she!"

Hermione watched; certain she was going to start laughing the minute the ghost returned to scowl at the painted image of Marlene McKinnon again.

"She's quite the rudest portrait in my mother's tower!" the ghost proclaimed.

"This is _not_ an enchanted portrait!" Hermione cried. "See! I can poke her in the eye!"

Which she did, jabbing the painted blue iris with her finger.

"Look! Nothing! It's just a painting."

_It's just a painting._


	7. Ch7 Spiders Webs

James Potter was always sure that he would have his 'happily ever after'.

And Sirius was certain his destiny was to die young.

James, and Marlene who was listening to them talking, were neither of them keen on this idea

But Sirius, apparently, did not really mind it.

As he pointed out, he really had very little to live a long life for.

As a result of being disowned and disinherited, he was penniless and destitute.

And while he was one of the top students in his year, handsome, popular and funny as hell; deep down he considered himself pretty loathsome.

'Loathsome' was the word he'd said, studying ice patterns on the dormitory wall, as he talked quietly to James.

Because, he'd tried to explain, his own _mother_ didn't love him. While he would love to believe that he was splendidly likable, this was his _mother_. When your own mother can't find one single redeemable feature in you, Sirius couldn't help feeling, there probably was nothing redeemable to find.

On top of this, he was still the Black heir, making him a dangerous liability to his chosen side in the war.

So he would fight fearlessly, and do whatever he could for James, but then he would die young, and that really was fine with him.

James asked him if he just wanted to leave a handsome corpse.

'That would be the side of it', Sirius agreed.

But he was not really joking. Marlene saw it in his eyes. and she knew Sirius thought these things about himself. When she heard him admitting them to James, it broke her heart.

She wondered if it helped; telling James. She was sure Sirius had never told another living soul.

And certainly few people guessed, because to the casual observer, Sirius seemed happy enough. He was clever, horrendously arrogant and funny; very funny, if occasionally rather cruel.

Even James didn't seemed to understand how Sirius really felt about his mum. Marlene listened to him talking to James. And even though James clearly didn't understand, he was, for once, mature and sensive enough to just listen, without interjecting jokes about Sirius' fear of growing old and ugly.

Sirius, or so he told James, was fine. And he loved James more than anyone. He intended to give everything he had to the war against Voldemort, until he was dead.

And then he'd be at peace, not having to put on a show of how happy he was anymore.

Which might be a bit of a relief.

He could just drift away into the blackness.

.

In fairness, Sirius was slightly intoxicated on a self-made 'Draft of Apathy' when he'd said this.

In fairness, they had all been slightly intoxicated that evening.

They'd been in Potions for most of the afternoon; brewing with all the windows closed, because it was wintertime and the castle was _absolutely freezing._

The Potions Classroom had been warm and misty.

For _three hours_ they had pounded together the gillyweed, niffler breathe and wormwood; stirring and concocting the murky 'Drafts of Apathy', in the pokey classroom that was a sole pocket of warmth in the icy castle.

After the bell had rung, they'd hurried through chilly passageways, were pale sunlight filtered through frosted-covered windows.

They warmed up in James and Sirius' dormitory, huddled beneath layers of prickly blankets; breathe misting in the air between the two beds.

They chatted, words drifting dreamily across the room.

The evening sky grew darker.

As they'd been doing for a few weeks now, Marlene and Lily sat together-but-apart, on James' bed. Lily, who lesss than a year ago have been slagged James off to anyone who'd listen.

James's bed was furthest from the drafty door and the two girls sat against the wall, legs draped in the layers of heavy blankets, which they kept pulled up to their chins.

Across the room, James and Sirius sat on Sirius' bed, also propped up against the wall, and also with plentiful layers of prickly woolen blankets tugged up to their chins.

It would have been hard to say what they talked about.

The murky air in the Potions Classroom had made them forget about going to dinner and what else they had forgotten they were too dreamy and unfocused to know.

They had been talking about the war... probably. And maybe about their families, all far away and vulnerable outside the school walls.

Marlene remembered Sirius talking about dying young.

She remembered James' voice droning _on and on,_ while she watched Sirius gazing up at the ceiling, his head tilted back to rest on James' shoulder and his eyes fixed on a point high above the window frame, or maybe fixed on _nothing at all,_ but fixed with such a mournful expression that Marlene's heart physically ached for him.

She imagined he was thinking about his mother, who didn't love him, and a war that wanted to kill him.

Some time later, when James had shouted at him for not listening, Sirius had clarified that he was thinking about a spider, that was making a very perfect web, back and forth, then back and forth, across the dormitory ceiling.

He was thinking about the infinite genius of the spider, going back and forth, and back and forth...

And then back and forth again.

Just back and forth, but always knowing exactly where to go and what to do; even though it's brain was so small that it couldn't be seen by the naked eye.

How, Sirius wondered, did something so mindless know how to weave the prefect web, when he didn't know how to do _anything at all;_ nothing but crash and burn, and appreciate James with all of his might.

Although he never spelled it out, Marlene knew that Sirius was very scared of losing James.

He had lost _everything and everyone else._

And so she knew, in her heart, that Sirius would never risk doing anything that would cost him James friendship.

Not for anything.

_Nor for anyone_.

Sirius watched the spider weaving it's perfect web, instructed by some perfect inner-knowledge.

And Marlene watched Sirius, who had more perfection in his flawed self than he realised.

Beside him James talked _on and on; _until suddenly he realised that he was starving.

But then, instead of taking his best friend to the kitchen for midnight feast supplies, _he took Lily._

_He took Lily._

And Lily didn't even hesitate.

No witty put-downs.

No nothing.

She just shrugged off the covers and walked out of the room with him.

James and Lily.

Lily and James.

Marlene sat on the bed, completely alone.

She felt completely alone.

And very aware of the cold spot where Lily had just got up and gone away.

_With James. _...Who Lily said repeatedly she didn't like.

And it actually felt as if something monumental had occurred, in that single insignificant action.

And although Marlene wanted to feel pleased for James, she did not feel good.

Like Sirius she did not expect a fairytale ending. But she had not expected the chapter they were in to end so unexpectedly.

The end of the story appeared to be in sight.

Marlene sat quite still for quite a long time.

She didn't even Sirius, thinking about how beautiful and complex he was, while he thought about the complex and beautiful wonder of spiders.

She assumed Sirius was still marveling at the wonder of the spider.

But she was wrong.

She didn't know what Sirius thought.

She didn't really see that Sirius was just a rather miserable and confused sixteen year old boy.

But she saw, and felt, Sirius abruptly getting off the other bed and sitting down, on James' bed, beside her.

Just sitting in Lily's place; head against the cold wall, silvery eyes gazing across at the other bed, or more likely at the thoughts inside his head.

Nothing else happened.

James and Lily came back.

They're voices filled the room with chatter and laughter.

_Together_ they divvied up the food and drinks.

_Together_ they sat back down on James' bed.

_Together._

James put the blankets over their laps.

The conversation about the war resumed as they ate.

.

Much later, when James walked Lily back to her dormitory, Sirius stopped pretending to be happy. He lay down, rolling himself up in James' blankets _but_ moving back, as well, so that his spine was pressed purposefully snug against her.

Marlene never questioned.

She had been summoning up the willpower to creep back to her own bed in Ravenclaw Tower. Instead she sat on James' bed, with Sirius curled against her, and let her fingers gently comb out his knotty black hair.

Sirius moved a fraction closer, so he could rest his head on her lap.

While he dozed, she carefully carded her fingers through his hair, teasing out the tangles, until they both drifted to sleep.

.

Although it rarely happened again, it _did_ happen. Just occasionally, when chance left them alone together in the dormitory; and the room was quiet and Sirius was certain they would not be disturbed, he would rest heavy against her, and Marlene would run her fingers through his thick dark hair.

.

Sometimes, when they were sitting in classes, and Sirius was working through a particularly hard question in his head, he would find himself staring vacantly at her.

When he noticed what he was doing, his lips would quirk into the slightest little smile, and a long forgotten grin would reach to his eyes, before he'd look away, laughing at himself.


	8. Ch8 While waiting for sunset

**Chapter 8: Marlene's Portrait, Part 2**

The portrait was enchanted!

Hermione had been lying awake in the unfamiliar Ravenclaw dormitory, when the realisation had struck her.

The owl blinked!

The little owl in the Owlery window, in the background of the picture, had blinked.

Hermione shot out of bed, snatched her dressing gown and the only slipper she could find, and rushed back into the Common Room, lighting her wand and holding it up to the oil painting.

Marlene McKinnon was not sleeping. She did not wake, or grumble at the sudden light. She stared through Hermione with her painted eyes, keeping her secrets.

Hermione searched the Owlery's windows for the blinking owl, but she couldn't find it again.

It took her a good few minutes of searching the painted windows to realise the owl's absence was, in itself, proof, that there was life in the picture.

She found the owl sitting in the branches of a tree, blinking at her again.

When she watched closely enough, she could just see the leaves of the tree moving, in the faintest breeze, and although the Quiditch players, chatting by their abandoned brooms, seemed frozen, every so often she could see one of their tiny painted mouths moving, or the tiny breeze catching the edge of their long gold and burgandy Quidditch robes.

Almost beside herself with excitement, Hermione lit the rooms lamps, so she could see the painting as clearly as possible.

Like the Grey Lady, the previous evening, Hermione stared at Marlene's painted eyes and tapped on her lifeless face.

It did not take Hermione long to come up with a plan.

Carefully aiming into the picture she cast "Accio broom!" and within the portrait, the two tiny brooms, propped against the distant Owlery, fell over. The nearer of the two, caught in her spell. Carefully Hermione pointed her wand at it, and floated it slowly into the foreground of the picture.

The two tiny Quidditch players jumped up, snatching out tiny painted wands and casting little spells that sparkled and hooked at the broom, as well; trying to pull it out of Hermione's spell. But she was good at accio and she pulled the broomstick further and further into the front of the picture until it reached the front of the portrait and knocked into the frozen statue of Marlene McKinnon, clumsily disturbing her blue velvet dress and sending a shower of dust onto the ground.

First one and then the other of the two Quidditch players arrived, out of breath and cross. The nearest snatched his broom back, but then paused, apparently just as startled to be in the front of the picture, as Hermione was to see him.

Then they spotted Marlene's frozen statue, exclaiming in shock and dismay as Hermione stared at them. Both boys cast spell after spell, trying to remove enchantments, or to revive her, but Marlene remained as lifeless as marble.

~o0o~

Having exhausted his inventory of spells, the very young James Potter removed himself a little, standing back and studying the ground, and his own feet, while the very young painted Sirius Black, silently re-straightened Marlene's hair and dress, carefully brushing a layer of dust from then. His painted lips were clearly pressed into a thin line of distress, something his every other action was worked hard to hide.

"Well… that's a puzzler," he said finally, turning back to James.

"Beats me," James assured him, forcing a convincing smile for his best friend. "Pads… How long have we been chatting for?"

"Don't know, Prongs."

Sirius shrugged his shoulders, trying to pull his eyes off the silent Marlene. "...Sun hasn't set yet though."

"Yeah…" James said, pushing his glasses onto his nose and looking carefully around with clever hazel eyes.

A moment later he cleared his throat and waited for Sirius to take his attention off Marlene again.

"...Padfoot, mate," he said, calmly. "I strongly suspect, that we are both dead... This whole moment has the rather creepy feel of being trapped in a Hogwarts Portrait."

The young schoolboy Sirius laughed, in surprise.

"…I hope you're joking." he muttered, finally. "I'd rather die than that."

"Yes…" James agreed, poking his glasses up his nose and clearing his throat yet again. "Unfortunately, I'm pretty certain… Don't you feel like we've been chatting on the Owlery steps for an _awfully_ long time."

"...Like years?" Sirius asked him, silver eyes widening suddenly.

"Yes… I am pretty interesting when you get me talking about Quidditch." James pointed out. "and that was one hell of an awesome game."

"...Awesome." Sirius agreed. "…You think we're dead, Prongs? Both of us?"

"Both of us." James agreed, with a firm smile.

"But... we can't be!" Sirius cried, a hand running nervously through his windswept hair. "We've barely… only… we were playing Quidditch… we won! Today! ...less than... an hour ago?"

"It was only against Ravenclaw," James pointed out. "I'm more worried about Slytherin next… next week?"

"...Bloody Slytherin," Sirius muttered. "...We've been chatting for… a long time?"

"Yes." James nodded, more certain, and more alarmed now.

"We're dead and in a portrait... Marlene's" He added, but then his breath hitched sharply in his throat and he swung round, almost tripping on the long robe as stared back at the Owlery.

"...Do you think that Lily…" Sirius stammered, messing his hair again nervously as he watched James' face grow paler. "...So, Prongs..." He cleared his throat, and asked calmly, "So, Prongs, do you think Lily has finished sending that letter to her sister?"

"I think… I'd better go and check... that she's alright... here... with us."

"I'm sure she's just choosing an owl." Sirius said, catching hold of James as his Gryffindor courage suddenly seemed to desert him. "You know what she's like about choosing a nice owl for her sister, mate."

"But what if she's not there?" James whispered. "…What if I am trapped for eternity in a portrait, and Lily... isn't with me?"

"She's in the Owlery, mate." Sirius swore. "She's sending a letter to her sister. We should just go back to the steps, and wait for her to come down, like we were. That's fine."

"But what if she doesn't come down?!" James cried. "What if I go into the Owlery, and she… and she... isn't there?"

"Then... you just stay in the Owlery for as long as you need, mate." Sirius told him, simply. "And then, when you are ready, you come back out and congratulate yourself for being stuck for all time with the most awesome best mate anyone could wish for. We'll spend our eternity, getting into other paintings and pranking all the snooty portraits who ever insulted us when we were alive. The Fat Lady will wish she'd never locked us out of the Common Room, Prongs."

"...Right." James nodded. "Right… Yes. Lily's in the Owlery. She's just sending a letter to her sister..."

"Yeah." Sirius agreed. "Said she'd be five minutes, mate... If you want us to carry on waiting on the steps…"

"No. No, I'll just check that she's... that she's there, Pads… I'll be right back…" And with something that sounded a little like a well repressed sob, he snatched up his broom, and walked steadily back to the Owlery.

Sirius waited, watching him, but assuming that he was unwatched he crossed the fingers on both his hands and mouthed whispered prayers to a God he didn't really believe in and who he suspected disliked him, to please, _please_, let Evans be in the Owlery safe and well.

...

"_She's here!"_ James screamed, tiny head and arms appearing to wave delightedly through a window. "It's fine! She's here, Pads! She's sent the letter! It's all fine!"

"Nice one, James!" Sirius yelled, giving him a broad thumbs up.

He watched the mop of black hair vanish back into the tower. "...Nice one," he said again, the smile playing for a moment on his young handsome face, before fading away. His eyes roamed over and over the silent figure of Marlene, before he turned to check the Owlery, making quite sure that he was alone.

Giving his eyes a fierce rub, and biting hard on his lip, he painstakingly re-straighten the dusty dress once more, and gently untangle Marlene's dusty blond hair. Believing himself to be quite alone, Sirius gave a choked sob, a hand pressed tight against his lips to stifle the noise as his chest convulsed, his head sunk helplessly against the lifeless statue.

Hermione, unable to do anything but spectate on this heartbreaking thing, gave him the only thing she could think would matter to him; she left the portrait alone, so Sirius could shed his tears in the privacy he'd assumed he had.

~o0o~

**AN: Sorry about the angst. The next chapter is a happy one, honestly.**


	9. Ch9 Padfoot and Prongs

**Chapter 9, Padfoot and Prongs.**

When Hermione returned to the Common Room on Saturday morning, the portrait of Marlene McKinnon had an audience of excited students. It took her some time to worm her way to the front.

Marlene McKinnon, at some point during the night, had been moved. She was now standing beneath the distant Weeping Willow tree, still gazing lifelessly into infinity. The owl from the window was circling rather nervously, in the sky and the teenage James and Sirius were talking excitedly, to the cluster of Ravenclaw students.

"…And then we spent the entire morning painting moustaches on the Fat Lady and her friends. We did that every year. It was tradition for us, ever since we were just idiotic little first years…" James was proclaiming, excitedly.

"But it was so much more fun last night," Sirius added, helpfully. "because this time we got to chase them through the portraits and pin them down, to do it. So much fun."

"Truly better this way round." James agreed. "We got the paint from that Italian geezer on the third floor hall way, who's pretending he's an artists."  
"He is an artist." Sirius pointed out. "He probably painted us."

"Except he was dead when we were at school, so that is just so unlikely." James laughed.

"I don't accept your argument." Sirius assured him. "He may have painted us in our painting from from within his painting."

"Whatever, Padfoot." James scoffed. "And look at all the awesome things we stole from the other portraits!"

"Borrowed." Sirius corrected, helpfully.

"Jewels and pretty dresses for my Lilyflower!" James cried, holding up a fistfuls of red velvet and crumpled emerald satin.

"And swords!" Sirius cried, poking him with one and making James yelp. "Portraits are just stuffed with swords and weapons."

"I have yet to establish if you can be murdered in a portrait!" James warned him, "But if you jab me with that sword again, I shall find out!"

"No, _you_ shall find out, Sir Prongs." Sirius assured him, jabbing him with the sword again.

"I'm not a knight, I'm a pirate!" James cried. "Look I stole someone's wooden leg!"

"Borrowed," Sirius reminded him again. "_Borrowed_ it, Prongs."

"Yeah, right, Padfoot," James laughed.

"What are you planning to do with your current leg?" Sirius asked, poking it with the sword.

"Oh bloody hell, I am trapped in a portrait with a mad man," James groaned. "Go chase those horses again."

"I really do want a horse." Sirius assured him. "I need one to ride fast through all the portraits, when McGonegal realises you've left a dozen naked maidens adorning the halls of Hogwarts, so you can present Lily with her lovely new wardrobe."

"That is exactly why I did it," James giggled.

"How old are you, Prongs!" Sirius groaned. "Help me catch a horse."

"How old… Excuse me," Hermione tapped on the portrait, finally. "Excuse me, Sirius? How old are you_?"_

"Hello, bushy-haired girl!" Sirius exclaimed, abandoning his attempts to pin James down for some impromptu leg amputation, to come and peer through the canvas at her. "I am immortal and God like. How old are you?"

"Eighteen." Hermione told him.

Sirius wrinkled his nose.

"Ghastly. I want to be twenty one, Prongs! I can't be seventeen forever! This sucks!"

"At least you're not trapped forever as a baby. Have you seen that baby in the portrait on the stairs? _Trapped forever as a baby_, Padfoot. I think I should put it out of its misery."

"Don't threaten to kill babies, you freak!" Sirius screeched at him. "That baby is permanently being breastfed, James,_ for all time._ I think its fine."

"I hadn't thought of it like that," James conceded. "Anyway, I thought you stole a horse off that other knight?"

"That stupid little pony?" Sirius wrinkled his nose again. "I can sit on it without taking either of my feet off the floor… It is adorable though. Where has it wandered off to now…?"

James watched Sirius himself wander off, sifting through the piles of stolen property that now littered the ground inside the picture.

"I have a lady to woo," He told Hermione and the laughing Ravenclaw girls surrounding her. He winked at them all, before scooping up a handful of the pretty dresses and jewels and heading off to the Owlery staircase.


End file.
